


Hands

by Lyrastar



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: F/M, Porn, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrastar/pseuds/Lyrastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hands on porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

When Jerry found his rhythm inside of her, he felt a great calm. Like finally, finally he'd made the right turn in life. He knew a man in heat was supposed to be wild, obsessive, rough, but his responses to anything had never been the norm. Instead, for him coitus was a comfort, almost meditative--hypnotic--like the drip drip drip of a faucet or the tick tick tick of a clock.

Except this time it was with the woman he loved, and that made all the difference

She lay open beneath him, large eyes fixed on him, offering him anything, willing to accept whoever he was. He smiled at her and she smiled back, quiet, happy, and likewise so seemingly serene.

She spread her hips further apart still, but never made a sound.

With Dana it had all been different, surreal, like a day at Disneyland with everything too wonderful to be real. She'd made everything perfect. (After all, even Jerry had to admit, she was very good at her chosen job.) There was nothing to want, nothing to wish better, none of this exquisite ache for more.

With Dana he'd felt like Superman, which was fantastic, but even then he had been smart enough to realize it could only be a make-believe game. With Katie he felt like a man, her man, imperfect enough to know it had to be real, could be his, and could be something that could last forever.

He would do this all night if that's what it took. Sex had never been of much import to him, but love was everything. He would not get this close and blow it now.

He adjusted his hold on her hips and changed his tempo again.

Still she lay seemingly undisturbed, eyes large and trusting upon him.

She touched his wrist and held his gaze. "Jerry," she whispered, "use your hands."

He did--one inside, one up top.

When he slid fingers inside of her and felt her jerk, it was an epiphany: this was what his hands had been waiting for years to do.

She urged him on with words and motions, directing him exactly where, how, how fast. He watched in fascination what his hands could do to her, the power they had, the ecstasy they could bring. His hands. Hands Espenson. That was his hand working magic inside of her.

He pushed harder, and she groaned his name louder into the air. He watched his hands give love to her and stashed every motion, every detail, every response into the cells of his eidetic memory.

There was nothing in his head he needed to retain more than he needed this.

He altered his action according to her demands, faster, harder and faster still until she could no longer say the words, couldn't see, couldn't move, could barely breathe. He slowed to a gentle stoking, as she caught her breath, her face composed. But as he looked at her a thought occurred.

He thought she--he--they could do it again.

He resumed the rub of finger pads against the spot she'd taught him, not building up now but full force straight out of the gate.

Her eyes flew wide and she archer her back, spasmed and came again.

One more time, he wondered, and he began afresh until this time she had to beg him to stop.

She shuddered at the loss as he pulled his fingers out of her for good.

He rocked back on his heels and took stock of her, them, him and he laughed aloud. Somewhere along the line he had climaxed. The sheets, his curls, his thighs were all a sticky mess. In retrospect, he remembered when it had been, but not even that could have torn his attention, his thoughts from her.

He was that much in love.

He wiped his hand, slick with her, upon his thighs, letting their juices commingle on his skin. But for once in his life he had no inclination--none at all--to leave his palms there when done.

She raised up arms and beckoned with her fingers. "Come here, Jerry. Please, oh, please, come here."

She looked so beautiful. Radiant. It was hard to believe that all that could be because of him. He fell in gratitude down at her side and she pulled his head against the sweat of her breasts and pressed until he could neither see nor hear.

He didn't worry and made no move to free himself. What she had to say or do next could make no difference to them now. They were made for each other, and only a power as great as that which had created them could tear them apart.

He was hers forever, regardless.


End file.
